She must have looked like like a fool—or a harlot—standing there in nothing but a nightdress, staring open mouthed and wide eyed at her father and the man standing next to him.

She hated that Ivriniel was right—he was very handsome. Much more handsome than the early light had allowed her to realize this morning. To his credit, the man was pointedly looking away from her, a stony expression on his face. He had seen her—their eyes had met momentarily, and she knew he had recognized her as the shamefully clad woman who had snuck through his bedchamber and woken him up. She looked down at herself, his cheeks flushing at the realization that now, especially, little must be left to his imagination.

"Ah—Denethor," her father said, nodding to the room he and the son of the steward had left, "Let us go back and let my daughter escape to tidy herself up."

Denethor nodded curtly, before turning abruptly and walking back to the room he had come from. Her father turned his gaze back to her, a smile threatening his lips. "Dare I ask—?" he began.

"No!" she darted up the steps. She managed to reach her rooms before anyone else saw her—but she knew that the damage was done. Her adventurous, unconventional father was not particularly perturbed with her morning swims, and so she was confident her mother and Ivriniel would not hear from him that she had snuck out yet again. And even if they never found out, he did not know her prior re-acquaintance with Lord Denethor.

For that was where the trouble lay.

What must the son of the steward think of her now? She closed the doors to her bedchamber and took in a heavy breath.

"Oh!" she sprang forward with a start when a loud knock was heard on the door behind her, and called out, "Yes, who is it?"

"Findi," a stern voice said from behind the doors. "Are you awake?"

Ivriniel.

"Just," Finduilas called back. "Why, what is the matter?"

There was a huff behind the door, and Finduilas knew she was receiving one of Ivriniel's infamous glares. "Lord Denethor, requested last night that he be shown around the city and surrounding beaches."

"Ah," Finduilas looked at her vanity table and sighed—her hair was a tangled mess, and she smelled like seaweed and salt water. She would need a bath before she was completely presentable. "Well, bring Lady Vashna."

"She has a cold—and mother has duties here," Ivriniel voice sounded tense. "It wouldn't do for me to be with him on my own, Findi. It wouldn't be proper."

Finduilas began to yank her brush through her hair—wishing her maid would arrive early so that she could get ready without Ivriniel banging down the door. But of course, her maid usually arrived for duty an hour before breakfast, not first thing in the morning. "I'm not going with you, 'Vri," she said.

"Why not?"

She could hear the handle of the door creak slightly as it turned, and Finduilas turned in her seat and watched, aghast, as Ivriniel opened the doors and stepped inside. She saw her sister wrinkle her nose as she looked around the messy room. "The staff should get a pay cut," she said disdainfully. "Why do you insist on letting them keep it this way?"

"I like it this way," Finduilas said dismissively.

"Still, it's so unbecoming of a princess—what—" her sister had finally looked at Finduilas. "Findi, did you go out swimming again? What did Mother tell you? You're not to sneak out while Lord Denethor and his companions are here…" Ivriniel pursed her lips. "Tidy yourself up and don't be late for breakfast," she ordered. "Mother has already decided you would accompany us on Lord Denethor's tour."

Finduilas nodded, and after Ivriniel swept out of the room, her head sank into her hands with a long groan.

HHHHH

His eyes were piercing. Even without looking in his direction, she knew instinctively that he was looking in hers. Finduilas slowly chewed her toast, hoping that at some point he would look away from her—She knew she would get questioned by Ivriniel and her mother later as to the reason the son of the steward seemed fixated on her this morning, when they had seemingly 'just met.'

She swallowed, and looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyes narrowed, and she raised her eyebrows in a form of resistance.

Her father coughed slightly, before breaking the tense silence. "Lord Denethor—we are all so sorry your sisters were unable to make the trip… I do hope that they are in good health?"

Slowly, Denethor tore his gaze from Finduilas and looked at Adrahil. "They are in excellent health, thank you," he answered. "They send their regards, and regrets to be unable to visit."

"Well, of course, they have their own families, don't they?" Ivriniel said, speaking up. "It's completely understandable that they could not make such a trip. Of course," she added, smiling adoringly at Denethor, "I do miss them—I cannot wait until my next visit to Minas Tirith and be able to see them again. And I miss Minas Tirith greatly, as well. I daresay Minas Tirith is the most beautiful city there is in all of Gondor. Perhaps in all of Middle Earth…" she trailed off, a bit of wistfulness on her face.

He nodded, though instead of returning her smile he looked back at Finduilas. Finduilas stiffened slightly, as his icy grey eyes looked intently at her face. "And your impressions of Minas Tirith, Lady Finduilas?"

"I'm afraid I have not visited it often," she replied. "Not since I was a child."

"You have not been ill, I hope?" he asked, though there was hardly any discernible concern in his voice.

"Oh no," she replied, "I have been the peak of health." She paused, as if thinking deeply. "There have been many chances for me to visit the city—but… I'm afraid I just could never be bothered to go. I'm afraid I don't share the same sentiment as my sister."

"Finduilas," her mother interjected sharply. "I apologize, Lord Denethor, Finduilas is never quite herself first thing in the morning."

"I wonder," he said, before taking a bite of his own breakfast. Finduilas squinted slightly at him, wondering what exactly he was thinking. She had hoped that his manner this early morning when they met—the second time—would mean that he would also ignore her for the rest of his visit. But she found, much to her dislike, that he had spent most of breakfast studying her.

She set her jaw, and began to eat her own breakfast as well.

HHHHH

Finduilas was never truly impressed with the gardens of the palace. Her love was for the sea—not the flowers and manicured shrubs that made up Ivriniel's hobby. "You see, they don't quite grow this far south—not well, at least—but I've managed to have quite the expansive collection…" Ivriniel was telling Denethor, who looked mildly interested, at best.

Finduilas hung back, losing her mind with boredom, and wondering how much longer until Ivriniel was satisfied with Denethor's presence. She closed her eyes, rocking onto the back of her heels, listening to the distant roar and dance of the wind and waves against the shore… "I—what?" she asked dumbly, when she realized someone had spoken to her.

Denethor and Ivriniel looked at her oddly, before Ivriniel laughed and said, "My sister is not quite herself this morning—My, how scattered your mind is, Findi. Perhaps it would be best for you to rest for a short while."

"I'm fine," Finduilas replied, sending 'Vri a short glare. "Your question, My Lord?"

"I asked if you were partial to gardening," he asked.

"Oh no," she said. "I'm afraid I destroy every green thing I touch."

"Yes," Ivriniel said musingly. "I'm afraid Finduilas has only a love for the sea."

Denethor raised an eyebrow. Finduilas quickly looked away, lifting up her chin and knowing he was remembering this morning—and most likely assumed there were other things she loved, besides the sea. What a horrible man, she thought. To think her, a lady of Gondor, capable of… She turned and saw one of the Lord Denethor's companions approaching them—two, in fact.

Ivriniel gave out a small noise of complaint, before hurriedly making her way towards Finduilas. "Please distract them," she whispered in Finduilas' ear. "Keep them company with conversation."

"Scandalous," Finduilas whispered back. She snickered when 'Vri gently and discretely swatted her with her fan. "My Lords," Finduilas said, smiling at them. "How are you this fine morning?"

The men stopped before her, glancing at Denethor, before smiling at her. They bowed, before addressing their lord. "Lord Adrahil requests your presence," they told him, "After you are finished with your tour."

Denethor had the gall to look relieved, though it seemed to escape Ivriniel's notice. "Though I am regretful," he turned to smile at Ivriniel, who preened like a peacock at the attention, "I am sure that your father would not interrupt your tour if not for a good reason."

"Of—of course," Ivriniel said, her face falling slightly, "Please let me know when you are free and I would be… more than happy to give you the finished tour."

He gave her a tight smile, bowed, and walked towards his two companions. He paused in front of Finduilas, turning to face her. "Lady Finduilas," he said, with a without so much as a nod, before following his companions back to the palace.

"Oh!" Finduilas exclaimed. "I've never met a man so—so rude."

Ivriniel whipped out her fan. "Oh, please don't be daft, Findi," she said. "He's the future Steward of Gondor, he's allowed to be as rude as he likes." Finduilas glanced at her sister in exasperation, and saw her sister fanning herself in earnest, and knew that Ivriniel was just as ruffled as Finduilas was at the lord's abrupt exit.

"Well, that's no excuse," Finduilas finally said, crossing her arms. "I can't abide the man," she said, bitingly, before heaving a breath and starting towards the palace. The man was truly despicable. Finduilas had half a mind to…to… smack him in the face. But that would cause a grave incident that Dol Amroth might not recover from—so she resolved to go for a brisk walk.

Muttering angrily to herself, she rounded a corner, about to leave the gardens, when she heard voices in a nearby path—whomever was speaking was blocked by a large shrub. Curiosity got the better of her, and she took a step closer, cocking her head. That voice was familiar… but where had she heard it before?

"But, my lord…" the man's voice said. "Your father explicitly said—"

Ah! That was where she knew the voice… he was one of the two companions who had 'rescued' His Lordship from her sister and her's company. She made a face as Denethor began to speak. "I know what my father said—but now that I am here, I find myself entirely uninspired."

She blinked. Uninspired? Did he come here to paint? What could he possibly be uninspired about?

"But, my lord…" the second man said. "Surely you do not intend to return to Minas Tirith after just one day—"

"Of course not," Denethor's voice was thin with impatience. "I will stay the month promised… but I daresay I shall not be leaving with a wife."

Finduilas opened her mouth and clamped it shut to keep from dispelling a noise of shock. A wife? Did he come here to seek out a wife? Horrified, she realized just who were at the top of his possible list of options. She could understand his disinterest in her, but to brush off Ivriniel like that… And he already knew her from her visits to Minas Tirith! Which meant…

The 'uninspired' part was about the other daughter of Adrahil. About her…

She felt a cold rush of shame and humiliation wash over her, leaving her with a bland taste in her mouth.

"I know Lady Ivriniel can be a bit much… but perhaps her younger sister?" the man said. "You know your father wishes to join Adrahil's house with his own…"

"As much as I find Lady Ivriniel bothersome, she is heavens above her sister," Denethor cut in. "That girl is not suitable to be any wife, let alone a stewards wife."

Finduilas' mouth dropped open again.

"But you hardly know her," his companion replied, sounding a bit panicked. "Surely, if you got to know her…?"

"I've become well acquainted with Lady Finduilas," Denethor replied. "As much as I respect Adrahil and his friendship, I cannot abide marrying one of his daughters, no matter the pressure of my father. The elder is cumbersome and the younger too… indecorous, to be a suitable wife."

Feeling sick to her stomach, Finduilas slunk away, and broke into a run when she reached a safe distance. Her eyes stung as she entered the palace and headed towards her bedchamber. She had never met such a terrible man—to say those things about her, and about Ivriniel! She wished she had the power to enact revenge for his cruel and dismissive words.

Odd—for she never even considered for a moment that she might want to marry the son of the steward, but even so. His words cut through her like ice, leaving her feeling empty and bereft. But quickly, that feeling was replaced with indignation. She was unsuitable to be the wife of a steward? To be any man's wife?

She scoffed, looking out one of the tall windows in her bedchamber to the sea outside.

He would regret those words.

HHHHH

To be continued...?

Findi has a flair for the dramatics ;)

Anyway, let me know if you'd like to read more!

Thanks for reading so far!